


Hinterland Poems

by BelowBedlam



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Awkward Kissing, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelowBedlam/pseuds/BelowBedlam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of a timeline where Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, falls for one cloudy haired, hard-eyed mage. </p><p>Two grumpy, punchy ladies who keep kissing each other.</p><p>(you might recognize my Kimani Trevelyan from the Verity series, where she romances Iron Bull)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Undo

In the beginning, Cassandra was convinced that the mage that had fallen from the Rift, the only survivor of the enclave that killed Divine Victoria, was possessed. Ridden by some demon that whitened her hair and hardened her eyes to steel. She had woken from her sleep with a sure stillness, looking calmly around the dungeon and into her hand as if little were amiss. She looked into the green snap of her palm for a long time, ignoring both Leliana’s cool threats and Cassandra’s frustration until she was ready. And still, she gave no answer.

 “I don’t know what this is.” She had waved her blighted hand at them. "Not a damned clue."

  _Liar_ , Cassandra wanted to growl. Wanted to shake this woman until she broke, until she told them why the Most Holy- and so many others- were ash beneath rubble. God, Cassandra needed something from the only person left standing after the explosion that had torn Thedas to the marrow.

The elven apostate  Solas said that the mark in the mage's hand may be the only thing to seal the ragged tears of sky. So they'd put the mage to the test. Cassandra took her to the tear in the sky. _The mage and I will meet you ther_ e, she'd told Leliana.

 “I am Kimani,” the mage had said as they trekked in the mountains. “You all are so eager to toss me very literally into the Void, you might speak my name.” Her accent is stark, odd. _Kimaaneh._ Marcher-Ostwick, some unknown trill to her “r’s”.

 “We only wish to fix what has been broken, _Kimani_ ,” Cassandra said with the last of her patience. The world was falling down around them; she didn't care about a name. Not from someone who had probably started the whole damned thing.

 Kimani scoffs. “Indeed, this particular crack is a bit too large to ignore.”

 Cassandra hadn't asked what she meant. She hadn't cared.

…

 

"Herald," is easy. It's a designation, a constant reminder of their predicament. As neutral and useful as the term "Seeker." But Cassandra still remembers how the Herald had looked when she demanded them _speak her name_.

 It's another evening in the Hinterlands. They’ve all washed off the filth of warring caves of apostates and rogue templars, free of blood and grime for the evening. Never free of smoke; from battlefield to campfire, they always smell of smoke. The Herald sits near the fire now, her undershirt loose and untied at the collar, her breeches rolled to the calf. She rubs a nice-smelling oil into her cloudy hair, pulling at thick, soft-looking spirals as she chews on nug jerky. Where the Mark meets white tresses, her hair glows like the sky. They have been two months in Haven and she hasn't mentioned the Mark bringing her pain or discomfort. She only looks into it as if it speaks, quietly, to her. It unnerves Cassandra, and she makes sure the Herald has eyes on her at all times.

The Herald's skin shines with what must be the same oil, sheening walnut-brown and littered with pale scars, the shadows of scars. One curls around her neck like jewelry; Cassandra watches it twitch as the Herald swallows.

 “Some here, Seeker,” the Herald calls suddenly, turning to her. Her legs are splayed open, toes curled in the dirt. She pats her thighs invitingly. “Let me comb your hair for you. I need something to do with my hands. And you need your hair combed, if you don't mind my bluntness.”

Months since the death of the Divine and the beginning of all this, and Cassandra has watched the Herald go from a cold, quiet hostility towards her, to this approximation of friendliness. Certainly not friendship-- they don't speak much-- but familiarity, and warmth. And, Cassandra thinks as she wills herself not to blush, unintentional moments of innuendo.

 “I’d take her up on the offer, Pentaghast,” Varric calls from the other side of the fire. Solas stays silent with his meal on his lap, eyes shifting occasionally to Kimani so that they share what Cassandra can only deduce are secret mage looks. “The Herald knows hair. And you _do_ need a good combing.”

 “I don’t.” It’s a silly rebuttal; Cassandra’s been fingering the frayed edge of her braid all day, tucking it haphazardly for it to only spring up again, the entire style held in place by age-old pins.

 The Herald smiles softly, tilting her head towards the fire. “Alright.”

 Cassandra had not expected for her to be so kind, in the beginning. She was dark and unhinged in battle, unlike a Circle mage in the way she wished to brawl with her hands lit like torches but so like a Circle mage in the way she wielded her staff. She was stoic, though Cassandra could not truly blame her; surrounded by people that wanted her dead, she, too, would steel her bones and stone the clench of her jaw.

 But this soft…understanding. It still takes Cassandra by surprise. It is like some poem she’s read, and forgotten, the way a hard woman grows soft.

 “Actually,” she says, reaching up to tug the ragged end of her braid, “if you _truly_ don’t mind…”

 The Herald grins, patting her legs again, and Cassandra swallows.

 Her thighs are soft; she situates Cassandra to her liking, sitting her straight and setting her arms over her legs so Cassandra is caught against the ribs. Deft hands pluck the pins from her hair and drop them in her lap. Strong fingers pull the matted braid apart, pull dusty knots away and drop those, too, in her lap.

 “Your hair is so thick and heavy. Coarse. You need oil, Seeker. Do you mind the smell of mine?”

 “No.” _It smells delightful. I want it all over me._ Cassandra composes her face as the pop of the bottle cracks the air, as heated fingers push oil onto her scalp with little warning, rubbing soothing circles into her head. The Herald drags her fingers through Cassandra’s hair, murmuring little complements at its weight and color, rubbing the ends briskly between her palms and Cassandra forget about the mark.

 When the Herald pulls as the short, dry hairs of her nape, Cassandra shudders, tipping her head forward as commanded.

 “Well look at that, my Nevarran friend,” she says, clicking her tongue. “You nearly have what I have back here. Kitchen, but the name only makes sense if where you cook is in the back of the house.”

 As she speaks, her thumb strokes the back of Cassandra’s neck idly, her other hand plucking at knotted pieces. For a few seconds, Cassandra can only feel that thumb, pressing her chin to her chest. She surely imagines the caress extending, slowing, pressing into the spot between her shoulders. Surely.

 When they are done, Cassandra re-pins her braid and thanks the Herald.

  _I am Kimani._

 “Goodnight,” she says, nodding to a curious-faced Varric and an uninterested Solas. “Sleep well, Kimani.” This is softer; the lilt of Nevarran is stronger, here.

 Kimani’s smile dissipates, brow furrowing and smoothing so quickly that, too might be imagination. “And you, Cassandra.”

As if they do not share a tent. As if Cassandra will not be awake, waiting for the mage to retire, so as to watch the quiet way she slips into her bedroll, sinking readily into sleep.

Some time after, Cassandra closes her eyes and dreams of battling demons with clouded, white hair.


	2. Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blame it on the adrenaline.

Kimani’s lips are chapped but Cassandra’s are busted, so she tastes the metal twang of blood and salt on her tongue.

Four seconds. Kimani counts. Their pull away from each other is like a shock of electricity swelled between them. The arm she’d wrapped around the Seeker’s shoulder tingles.

Cassandra takes a step back, nearly tripping over a dead bandit. She’d nearly split the man in two not ten minutes ago; The entire skirmish (they'd been ambushed, but not well enough) had been beautiful in a way it could only be beautiful in the vast danger of the Hinterlands, and Kimani is grateful that they blunder here. The world is at least as pretty--and dangerous-- as Cassandra, here.

“Sorry,” Kimani says finally, running her teeth over her bottom lip.

“It was-” Cassandra stumbles, clamps her mouth shut. Stares hard at Kimani. Sighs. “Battle-rush.”

Kimani nods, standing taller under the Seeker’s gaze. Remembers the gauntlet-clad hand clamped on her hip. “Battle-rush. We both get it. It’s…”

“We need not speak further of it.” Curt and sure, she steps over the aftermath of their skirmish, stalking away with the intent for Kimani to follow. This was how they fought; Cassandra as cannon, barreling forward, Kimani as arcane arrow, shooting from every-which way until she, too came in with hands lit brighter than the rifts yet left in the Hinterland’s crevices.

Kimani follows her blush-furious tank, because that’s what works, how they work. She keeps some paces behind, savors the fruits of battle-rush on her tongue. Looks back at the dead bandits, at how the low mountains frame a sea of grass and shrub and soft-colored flowers beyond the carnage.

She wants to laugh, because they have so little to do with that. They are metal and blood and victory and battle-lust.

…Rush.


	3. Little Venture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kimani and Cassandra try to argue, and end up kissing instead.

“Battle-rush.”

Kimani’s back is against the slick rock-face of a nondescript cave. They should be _in_ the cave, before the incoming rain bursts from angry gray clouds above them. It’ll ruin the armor. Cassandra of course has more of it, harder and sharper. Warrior; Kimani feels the hard edges of her gauntlets as Cassandra pins her, frustrated.

 “What?” Cassandra is frustrated _and_ confused, her flush reddening her olive skin. “What?”

 “Battle. Rush.” Kimani repeats, lifting her chin to the taller woman. “Remember last time, that’s what you called it. Just so we’re clear, though…we have fought no battles today.” She smirks as the Seeker's eyes widen, then narrow again. Cassandra is easy to tease, but her grip on Kimani’s shoulders only gets tighter.

 “I am not here to _kiss_ you,” she hisses, looking down on her with a scowl.

 “You’re certainly not this close to _chastise_ me,” Kimani retorts, wriggling in her grip.

 But oh, she's going to try her damnedest: “These mages nearly _killed_ us, Kimani.  And you! You would give them-”

 “-Forgot what I am so quickly, Seeker?” Kimani snaps, flicking a crackle of lightning off the edge of her tongue so Cassandra flinches. “Maybe you’re _not_ here to kiss me, then.” She has learned to let insults roll off her back like water off a duck and yet, coming from Cassandra…coming from Cassandra, they hurt. But the woman is a Seeker, and Kimani knows too well what the Seekers have done.

And yet.

 Cassandra leans in close with a scowl meant to frighten. “I tire of your rashness," she says. But it comes out too soft, more purr than growl, and Kimani bites her lip. Her hands, useless at her sides, flex with the swell of her energy, releasing some of it for both of their sakes. It is not enough.

 “Then take a nap," she retorts. Her voice is just as soft. "It’s what I do when I get tired of your righteous shit.”

 That scowl deepens but Cassandra does not move, only glares into Kimani’s face as though she wants to beat the shit out of her. Kimani has never shrank from such a threat.

 She licks her lips, feels her desire rise like flames the longer they stand against this cave. The longer Cassandra holds her in her grasp. And she is not the only one; Cassandra’s eyes roam, sweeping over her as if she’s looking for something. For some reason to let go, perhaps, or some impetus to move forward. She squeezes Kimani nervously, lips parting.

 “Cassandra.” Kimani stretches so their noses brush. They can play at it all day, but she won't go a step further into this ridiculous mission before they've resolved this. At least on some level.

 Cassandra blinks at the contact, pressing her lips together. “Battle-rush,” she murmurs.

 Kimani nods, smirking. “That’s what you called it, no?”

 “And we…have not fought any battles today.”

 “Not that I can remember.” Kimani’s breath catches as Cassandra leans  closer, pressing their bodies together so they’re just one trembling, stubborn form. “Oh, do…”

 She is gentle, the way she nudges Kimani’s head up, the way she brushes her mouth over hers first, hesitant. Kimani watches her face, how her eyes flutter shut when she finally commits, pressingly firmly against her mouth. Her eyebrows raise when Kimani pushes back, bolder, drawing a soft moan deep from the Seeker’s chest. When she slips her tongue between her lips, she draws another.

 There’s no blood this time, no sharp cut of cracked skin. She tastes like the last traces of jam and bread, the sour of elfroot. Nug jerky.

 “Maker,” Cassandra breathes when she pulls away, resting their foreheads together.

 “Hmm.” Kimani stretches up again, taking Cassandra’s bottom lip to nip gently and smiling when she jumps.

 The Seeker’s moan is soft, eyes closed, brows furrowed as if in fear as she runs her tongue over her lip. Her hold on Kimani’s shoulders loosens and so Kimani frees herself, taking Cassandra by the waist and turning them so that they switch spaces. 

She leaves no room between them, noting pleasantly that Cassandra’s flush is redder around her neck; She rises on her toes to press kisses against it, pausing to suck light bruises when she gets an approving sigh. This skin tastes like leather and metal, and whatever she uses to clean them; Kimani runs the tip of her tongue up Cassandra’s throat, kissing her on the chin.

 “Kimani.” Her breath comes shaky, though her hands on Kimani’s hips hold firm. Kimani smiles, twisting her waist playfully, pressing their hips together.

 “You are overwhelmed,” she says when Cassandra's eyes stay firmly shut; The Seeker pants, unable to slow her breath, and Kimani lowers from the tips of her toes. “We will stop. You’ll want to breathe a little better than that,” she teases gently, laying her cheek on Cassandra’s shoulder when she tries to pull away and is given no such leave.

 This is enough resolution, she thinks. Enough for now. Enough to get through the rest of this trip, at least.

 “I’m trying. I don’t know how you are so calm,” Cassandra confesses. She flexes her hands against Kimani’s rump and laughs when Kimani hums her appreciation. She wraps her arms instead around Kimani’s waist, hugging her.

 More things she does not expect from Seeker Pentaghast. It makes Kimani shudder.

 “I’m not.” Kimani shakes her head, closing her eyes when she is kissed on the temple; a signal to an end, even as both women hold tight. “Spirits take me, I’m not calm at all.”

A warning thunderclap booms around them, but neither make to move.


	4. Wanting and Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Haven, shit gets real because Kimani is a tease and Cassandra needs to get laid. NSFW

Cassandra will blame Kimani for this, for how she has her pushed up against her cabin door, kissing over the cleavage that had met her when the Herald greeted her in nothing but an artfully-tied breast band, sleeping pants, and a sly smirk.

 _Mornin_ _’ Cassandra_ , she’d said with a yawn. Neither had expected Cassandra to take matters so literally into her own hands but she has dreamt of chestnut skin and cloudy white hair for days, even as they find small moments to kiss quickly, to trade banter, to simply look with meanings that make Cassandra’s mouth dry. She has run herself into a rut of frustration that she cannot tease out on her own, neither in bed with her thoughts and her own hand, nor with sword buried into practice-dummy in the training yard.

Cassandra is _wanting_.

“You inspire recklessness,” Cassandra says, her lips against Kimani’s ear. The Herald has pulled the strings of Cassandra’s sparring attire so her leathers are at her feet and only a thin, scratchy tunic separates their skin. “Recklessness, in me.” She nips Kimani’s neck as she strokes thighs clamped around her waist. “The things I have thought about…those that I wish to do…”

Kimani shivers, and Cassandra feels every bit of it. “To me, I hope,” she pants, her flush creeping over her chest. Cassandra hikes her higher, freeing a hand to pull at Kimani’s breast band until her ample bosom falls free. She looks up at her, her mouth hovering over one stiff nipple.

“Yes,” she replies quietly, making contact with a drag of her tongue. “With you, to you.” Kimani's skin is hot and soft from fragrant oil and Cassandra worships it, kissing and sucking until Kimani moans continuously overhead, her core hot against Cassandra’s stomach. She holds Cassandra by the back of the head, panting her name when she worries teeth over skin. She presses Kimani into the door, takes a moment to simply relish in the feel of the woman around her. Truly, Cassandra wants to drown.

In a moment of homage to their first encounter (she enjoys this thought, enjoys thinking about that cave) she runs the tip of her tongue between Kimani's breasts, up, up until Cassandra presses a hard kiss to blush-dark collarbones. Then she does it again, kissing over her collar bones and mumbling how beautiful the Herald is.

Kimani laughs shakily. “ _Seeker_.” She rubs against Cassandra mouth, purring when her nipple is caught between gentle teeth. “Inspiration indeed. Now,” she runs her hands over Cassandra’s hair, plucking at pins. “Put me down.” 

“Am I being ordered?” Cassandra smirks

Kimani rolls her eyes, grinning. “ _Please_.”

She lets her down one leg at a time before claiming those full lips in a kiss, running her hands over her body and shuddering when Kimani responds in kind, rubbing her breasts and the stiff peaks that press against her tunic.

“Your body,” Kimani murmurs against her mouth, “is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. So strong. And so firm.” Here, she squeezes Cassandra’s ass. “Will you lie down on the bed for me?” Tentatively she presses her palms against Cassandra’s stomach, nudging her backwards.

Cassandra does as she’s asked, feels herself throbbing as Kimani watches her, half-naked with bruises darkening over her breasts. Bruises that Cassandra had given. She swallows, looking at the ceiling as she lay fully back. 

“If you get overwhelmed again, you say something,” Kimani says as slips out of her sleeping pants, posing for a brief moment when Cassandra oggles her. Then she lifts one of Cassandra’s legs, pulling her boot off in one smooth motion. “You want anything, you say something. I know I can be a little eager.”

“I like that about you,” Cassandra says, anticipation building as her second boot drops to the floor with a thud. “Well, I like most things about you.”

“Oh?” Warm hands slide up Cassandra’s thighs, and she sits up to watch Kimani dance her fingers over the laces of her breeches, pulling them loose with the same deftness as she had her leathers. She holds Cassandra’s gaze for a heartbeat before easing both breeches and smalls over her hips and down her legs, dropping them to the floor. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Your smile, when you give it,” she begins, shivering as Kimani crawls over her, straddling her. Her breasts sway delicately until Kimani lowers herself on her forearms and they press against her chest. Maker, Cassandra should have taken off her shirt…

“My smile,” Kimani echoes, kissing her lightly on the lips. She shifts and Cassandra can feel…Maker. She is hot and _wet_ and Cassandra barely hears her when she says, “Is that all? _”_

 _“Your fortitude,” s_ he rasps, gasping when Kimani bites her neck, kissing over her shirt before Cassandra tugs at it, pulling it up, up, and over her head quicker than she can conceive of the movements in her mind, and Kimani laughs a bright, sharp note before kissing her stiff nipples, laving one with a delighted moan. She squeezes Cassandra’s other breast, thumb rubbing in time with her tongue.

Emboldened, Cassandra slides a trembling hand down Kimani’s back, gripping a handful of soft flesh.

“Is that what you call my ass?” Kimani jokes, giggling. “You like the feel of my fortitude, Cassandra?”

“ _Maker_ ,” Cassandra breathes as wet, sloppy kisses trail down her stomach, her hands sliding up Kimani’s bare back. “Your mouth. The things that come out of that mouth.” She bucks inadvertently when Kimani licks her navel. “Forgive me.”

“Never,” Kimani whispers, settled between her legs; she coaxes Cassandra’s legs wider until she’s open, vulnerable.

Silence. Light touches over her thighs, around her black-haired mound, turn her into nothing but hot skin and deep ache.

“What are you feeling, Cassandra?” comes Kimani’s voice, shaky and tight. “Should I continue?”

“ _Please_.” Eyes shut tight, hands twisted in sheets, and the woman hasn’t even touched her where Cassandra has imagined her touching since the Hinterlands, her hand buried between her own thighs. She knows she is red with want and with shock, anticipation winning out over flustered embarrassment at having the Herald of Andraste between her legs, petting her dampened curls. 

Those fingers drag, finally, over her lips, and Cassandra sighs at the gentle contact, trying and failing to breathe evenly as the caress presses more firmly, seeking more sensitive fare.

When she circles Cassandra’s clit, gaining speed in increments, Cassandra lets out a bright, Nevarran curse.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kimani whispers, and Cassandra forces her eyes open sitting up to see her lover (at this point, with her breath heating Cassandra’s cunt, they are, at least, momentary lovers) red-cheeked and wide eyed. She raises her eyes. Cassandra makes a soft, shocked noise; she had not thought to ask after _her_ , and now she is shamed at her negligence.

“You are also allowed… to be overwhelmed,” Cassandra pants; Kimani’s fingers still press over the swollen bud of her clit and her brain does not want to form words, but she forces them out. “Are you alright?”

“You’re beautiful,” Kimani whispers. “I am alright. You’re just beautiful.” She resumes her ministrations as she speaks. “And you’re fierce. And you’ve saved my life as many times as I’ve saved yours. Probably more. These are the things I like about you.” She drags her fingers over the length of Cassandra’s clit, and Cassandra can only moan, head fallen into Kimani’s pillows. “You’re also _delightfully_ wet.”

The first press of Kimani’s mouth against her cunt has her groaning the woman’s name, rolling her hips. She slides her hands into Kimani’s thick, soft hair and holds on, unbidden and lost as Kimani sucks gently at her. Her tongue slides between Cassandra’s folds and she keens, whining long and high as delicious ache blossoms into gripping heat, igniting her skin, her spine, everything as she rocks against Kimani’s face.

Maker, how long had it been since someone had made her melt so? Since she’d allowed someone to soften her to putty against a bed?

“Kimani,” she whines as the telltale flutters of her orgasm have her gripping the woman’s hair. “I’m…ah…”

Cassandra gets a breathy moan in response, and she shouts as Kimani quickens her work. She jerks her hips up to chase the heights that burst white behind her eyes. _Too long_ , she thinks, unable to think anything else as she comes, and keeps coming. _Too blighted long_.

Kimani licks slowly as Cassandra finally comes down, patient as the Seeker tries to compose herself again. But all she can do is shudder as the last waves wash over her, as her lover’s tongue teases out uncoordinated jerks of her hips with each agonizing lick, until an indulgent kiss to her lower lips signals the end to that delectable torture.

“You sing like a bird,” Kimani chuckles hoarsely, pupils blown as she gazes up at Cassandra. “And you taste as good as you sound.” She licks her lips, smiling. “Now, do you feel as good as you taste?” She smiles harder when Cassandra can only nod.

“Kiss me,” comes a voice too soft to be _Seeker Pentaghast_ , surely. “You are exquisite. Kiss me.”

Kimani laughs, crawling back up Cassandra’s body to oblige her, letting her taste herself as she deepens the kiss leisurely. Cassandra lets her hands roam, stroking her smooth skin as Kimani sighs, humming her pleasure as Cassandra caresses her.

Cassandra slips her tongue into Kimani’s mouth as she ventures further, finding her wet, wet, wet. She parts soaking flesh to tease a  throaty groan from the Herald as she rubs into that soft heat.

“I…I’m already close, Cassandra,” Kimani warns, arching to push her ass further into the air as her skin re-flushes dark red.

“Just from pleasuring me? Incredible,” Cassandra says reverently as she slides her fingers around Kimani’s clit. “If you would prefer my mouth…”

“This is fine,” Kimani grunts, rocking herself onto Cassandra’s fingers. She buries her face into the crook of her neck. “Oh, shit…”

Cassandra feels her twitch hard and quickens her ministrations, rewarded by Kimani’s strained moan as the woman shudders, rubbing frantically against Cassandra until she sighs long and hard into the sheets, slumping. Cassandra strokes her slowly, mimicking the way Kimani’s tongue had eased her down, until Kimani shivers, whining.

“Spirits,” she says, muffled. “Fucking spirits. That was lovely.”

Silence falls over them as they lay, catching their breath. Cassandra relishes in Kimani’s warm weight, her soft thighs, her hands stroking the top of her head. She wraps her arms around the mage’s waist and sighs contentedly as relief settles in her bones.

After a moment: “This is your fault, Seeker.”

Cassandra sputters. _“Me?_ I am not the one who opened her door half-naked.”

“I didn’t expect you to throw me _against_ said door,” Kimani protests, sitting up to catch her eye. “I thought maybe I’d get you to kiss me a little before you ran away. Something more than what we’ve been managing in this blighted place.”

“Run away? Nonsense. I don’t even run from dragons.”

“Oh, but I’m scarier than a dragon,” Kimani says solemnly, a jesting twinkle in her eye as she caresses Cassandra’s cheek. “And I burn just as hot.”

“That, I can agree with,” Cassandra nods, lifting her head to kiss Kimani gently and she smiles, looking away.

“We should get cleaned up.”

“A moment.”

Cassandra knows that once they move, once they begin right their clothes and clean their legs, that the day will commence and this small, beautiful, surprising moment would be swept away by necessity. By duty. But oh, she wants to stay in this creaky little cabin forever. Or, at least, for the rest of the day. Even if all they did was lay and kiss and jest until nightfall.

Duty, however.

This does not mean that Cassandra doesn’t steal a few more kisses, a few more caresses. Doesn’t mean she hurries any of their reconfigurations or that she closes the cabin door behind her without looking back, a final glimpse at a woman that makes her chest tight with _something_.

It just means she endeavors to fold the moment away, as vivid and succulent as it had been in the heat of it. Until next time.

_Maker, let there be a next time._


	5. Flows Like Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Valentine's Day. Posted here late. xD
> 
> Love flows like flowers, and grows like water. I’m so thirsty for romance I could drink a dozen roses.  
> ― Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not FOR SALE

“Stand still, Lady Inquisitor.”

“Yes, Lady Seeker.”

Kimani grins up at Cassandra as she focuses intently, brow furrowed as she holds a wildflower precariously over Kimani’s hair. Already, she has placed three of the flowers- one yellow, one violet, one blue- into the travel worn frizz of her tresses, and this next blossom is white.

It isn't as easy as Kimani’s decision to simply braid nothing but white flowers into Cassandra’s braided crown. The Seeker’s cheeks are still pink from seeing herself reflected in the stream, but had not removed them. She hadn’t made much fuss at all, had only returned to where they linger at the stream though it’d been some time since they’d bathed. Her hands were so full of blossoms Kimani was certain they’d sprouted from her lifelines.

Cassandra’s grin was devious. Her plans were for revenge.

The secret: If Kimani could wear flowers in her hair until the day she died she would, if only the bees, too, didn’t enjoy her decorations.

“There we are.”  Casandra thrusts the flower into the spot she’s chosen, twisting the stem to be sure it stays put. But after days in an extended trip to the valley, and careless hairdressing despite Vivienne’s subtle scorn, nothing is getting out of Kimani’s hair. When she finally tended to it properly she would not be surprised if parting to her scalp indeed produced a bee alive and well, if not a bit confused. A gift for Sera, maybe.

“You are laughing at me,” Cassandra says, her voice not stern enough to hide the grin pulling at her lips. “I can see you.”

“Not laughing at you.” Kimani smiles, clapping her hands over her mouth when she does laugh. “Laughing at _me_ , and the damn bird’s nest on my head.”

“Nonsense.” Cassandra clicks her tongue, eyes trailing over Kimani’s head in search of a spot for a new flower, blush pink. “I have never seen more magnificent hair in my life.”

Kimani’s eyes widen as fingers sink into her tresses, rubbing slowly over her scalp. She can’t help but press up into the sensation, shivering.

Cassandra presses harder, slowing her ministrations to an agonizing pace as she continues. “It rises. Likes these very flowers. It blossoms, even. Especially after you wash it. It is beautiful.”

“What _poetry_ ,” Kimani counters, her face warm as she tries at composure. But the heat creeps down her neck the longer she lingers on the words, burning hotter the way Cassandra now tucks a tuft of hair behind her ear, her expression smug as she strokes along its curve.

It’s not often in their encounters that Kimani is the one flustered by words and small touches; She slips her arms around the Seeker’s waist and pulls the woman to her, ignoring her tinny yelp as their bodies collide. _There’s_ a little bit of a level playing field; there’s a bit more blush on her lover’s olive skin.

Cassandra is so often covered in armor- she wears her crest proudly, each piece of metal another badge that she has earned- that it is a gift to have her close in nothing but rough tunic and soft breeches, her body warm and supple. In the Hinterlands they all smell like grass except Vivienne, but Kimani finds she likes how Cassandra, particularly, smells like the land around them; she presses her face against the smooth skin of her neck and breathes her in shamelessly.

“Mmm. It seems I only need worship this crown of hair,” Cassandra purrs, tilting Kimani’s chin so she can smile into her face properly, “to get what I want.”

“Is that what you want?” Kimani asks slyly, sliding her hands up Cassandra’s back. “You could just ask for me grope you, you know. Whenever you want.”

“That is only partly what I want.” Their noses bump as Cassandra brushes her lips over Kimani’s.

Kissing the Seeker is always so _nice_ ; Cassandra sighs into her mouth as she kisses Kimani’s heart into a gallop, humming her pleasure when she’s clutched tighter. Though, and Kimani knows this, the time they’ve taken by the stream is nearly over.

This only makes Kimani greedy, licking into the Seeker’s mouth with express purpose.

Neither is in any state to hear their visitor.

“Discretion, my dears, is the crux of any relationship worth its salt,” Vivienne says as she saunters past, her face softer than her words as appraises the two women clutching each other.

At the intrusion, Kimani figures they’re both coming upon similar shades of red.

“We are in a _forest_ , Enchanter,” she calls crossly, fighting the urge to hide behind Cassandra when Vivienne turns back to them, one eyebrow arched with interest.

“Indeed,” the Madame agrees, a smile playing over her mouth. She regards them for a long moment, then gestures gracefully at Kimani’s head. “If you want the… _decoration_ to make any sense, you will ask the Seeker to place another violet flower just above your right ear.” She taps her own ear as she speaks. “The Seeker should also have one more flower at the base of her braid.”

Cassandra’s hand flies to the back of her head quicker than she can register, and it only deepens her blush. “Indeed, Vivienne.”

“And Inquisitor, my dear, tend to your breeches.”

Kimani curses, hand flying to her waist to find her laces still undone.

Vivienne stands calmly, waiting for a reply, eternally unbothered by their embarassment.

Kimani sighs, pulling away from Cassandra to pull her pants together.

“Indeed, Vivienne.”


End file.
